


The Cream in my Coffee

by bizzybee



Series: Dorogrid Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, F/F, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Trans Dorothea Arnault, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: Ingrid hates her job. She hates coffee, she hates customers, she hates it all.There is one customer she doesn't mind, though. One who always happens to bring a smile to her face.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: Dorogrid Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757857
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	The Cream in my Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day Two of Dorogrid Week: Modern AU!

"Your usual?"

Ingrid Brandl Galatea is always in control, thank you very much. 

When one pretty customer known as Dorothea is concerned; however, everything else flies out the window. 

"You know me," Dorothea smiles. She winks when she passes over her credit card, and Ingrid almost drops it. 

Ingrid's face goes red. Clearing her throat, she pulls out the cup, uncapping a sharpie with one hand. "Name?" 

"Hm. Barista's choice." 

It had taken weeks for Ingrid to learn Dorothea's real name, weeks until Annette recognized her from rehearsal. It was an inside joke between them now, how Dorothea chooses a new name every time she visits the campus Starbucks. At least, Ingrid hopes it's an inside joke. 

"All right." Ingrid taps her chin with the end of the sharpie. "Rhea?" 

"That works." 

Ingrid passes the cup to the side. 

"So how's your day going?" Dorothea asks, and Ingrid should tell her to get a move on, there's customers waiting to order, but she doesn't. She won't. 

"You know how it is." Ingrid stutters a bit. "Always a- Always a party here."

As if in response, Annette sprays a stream of whip cream directly onto the floor. "Fuck. I missed." 

Dorothea smiles. "Talk to you later?" 

Ingrid can only nod before Dorothea disappears down the line, calling a hello to Annette and striking up a conversation about the performance of Wizard of Oz they're both a part of. 

Ingrid helps the next customer, and the next, and the next, trying not to eavesdrop on Annette and Dorothea's conversation, and also trying  _ to _ eavesdrop on their conversation. It's complicated. 

As soon as the rush dies, though, Dorothea leaves, her hair fluttering behind her. 

"I'm telling you, Ingrid. She likes you." Annette flips off the foamer. "She's always going on during rehearsal about the cute barista who works here." She turns, calling out, "Lorenz!" 

"Ugh. I don't know." Ingrid props herself up on the counter, chin in her hands as she stares at that same corner Dorothea disappeared behind. "She's probably talking about Sylvain." 

"Y'think?" Sylvain asks over his shoulder. 

"She said the  _ blonde _ barista," Annette says. "Lorenz!" she calls louder across the counter. 

"Damn," Sylvain says.

"Mercedes?" Ingrid tries. 

"Mercedes works here ten hours a week. You're here what, 50?" Annette finally passes off the cappuccino to a purple-haired man. 

"55," Ingrid mutters. 

"So, probability-wise, I'm just  _ saying- _ "

"I asked for no whip cream," Probably-Lorenz cuts her off.

Annette smiles placidly. "Yes. Of course. My apologies." She turns to remake the drink, mutters of "fucking weirdo," under her breath. 

Probably-Lorenz sips his coffee, unimpressed.

"I'm just  _ saying _ ," Annette continues, "There's way more of a chance that she's talking about you, not Mercedes. I'm a calculus major. I know chances and stuff like that."

"Ooh, stuff like that. So impressive." Sylvain says. 

"I just don't know," Ingrid says. 

"Well, I do. And I'm saying, you need to ask her out." 

Ingrid groans.

"You know, Ingrid." Sylvain ruffles her hair, laughing as she swats him off in protest. "If I don't have a chance, you gotta hit that for me." 

"Um. No. Ew. Never say 'hit that' to me, in that way, ever again. Goddess."

"Fine then. I'll bleach my hair. I'm willing to go blonde." 

"You do that, Sylvain. You do that." Ingrid rolls her eyes. 

"No, Sylvain, don't you dare. Remember when Claude tried that and all his hair fell out?" Annette cuts in from the espresso machine.

"Annette, my love. I don't know how to explain to you that I am totally willing to take that chance."

“She’s not that hot, Sylvain,” Annette says, sing-song.

“Annette!” Sylvain lays a hand over his chest.

“Objectively, sure, but she’s not my type!” Annette says.

“You wound me. Even worse, you wound Ingrid.” Sylvain claps a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. She shrugs him off.

“Ingrid, are you wounded?” Annette asks. 

“Totally. Definitely,” Ingrid says, distracted.

“See?” Sylvain says.

Annette hits him. Sylvain gasps, offended. Ingrid ignores them, staring at the spot where Dorothea disappeared. 

* * *

The second time Dorothea comes in that week, Ingrid's working with Annette and Mercedes. She loves her friends, she really does, but whenever it's the three of them on the clock together, shit inevitably goes wrong. 

Shit went wrong today. 

"I could've sworn we had some back there," Mercedes calls, hands on her hips, airy voice just tinted with a hint of distress.

Annette is, at this moment, trapped by her own choice in their walk-in freezer, breath coming out in huffs as she digs through cartons. "I'm not  _ seeing any _ , Mercedes!"

They're out of caramel. There's no refills under the sink. None under the espresso machine. None in the fridge. What there are  _ many _ of, though, are disgruntled customers, watching the scene in front of them, unamused. Five, in fact. 

Ingrid has one hand preparing drinks, the other preparing cold drips, a phone under her ear with Sylvain on the line. 

"I'm telling you, Sylvain, it's not fucking there," she says, flashing an apologetic smile at their customers. "Annette's balls-deep in the freezer already, and it's  _ not there _ ." 

"Ferdinand," she barks out, almost slamming the triple shot mocha latte on the counter. She smiles as a broad-shouldered ginger comes to get their drink. 

"And anyway, Sylvain, why the hell were you putting caramel in the deep-freeze, anyway? It doesn't go bad." Ingrid pounds the portafilter over the trash as she listens. "Sylvain, there's always room under the espresso machine. What the fuck are you on."

A beat. 

"Goddess, Sylvain. Learn to understand a rhetorical question. Any other ideas?"

Ingrid takes a moment to listen. Then, she marches across the kitchen, kneels down, shoves containers of powdered sugar aside, and emerges, victorious, a full bottle of caramel in her hands. 

"Annette, Mercedes! I got it," she calls, then, to Sylvain, "No, I'm not giving you credit. I don't care if you're my manager, technically. Fuck off and be more organized." A pause. "Yeah, I love you, too. See you tonight."

She slams down the phone.

"Your boyfriend?" 

Ingrid spins around to see Dorothea, an amused grin on her face as she leans over the counter. 

"What? Ew. Goddess, no. Ew. No. I'm gay. He's my roommate. Goddess." Ingrid changes out the caramel pump. "Ew." 

Dorothea raises her eyebrows. "O-kay then." 

Ingrid wipes off her forehead with her arm. "Anyway. Sorry about that. Things are," she waves her arms, "You know. Right now." 

"Trust me, I get it." Dorothea smiles. "I work at the Pizza Hut in the Student Center." 

Ingrid winces in sympathy. "Your usual?" 

"You know me so well." 

Ingrid pulls up a cup, waving away Dorothea's card. "It's on the house if you can deal with waiting for twenty minutes while we get caught up." 

"You're an angel." 

Ingrid flushes. 

“You’re coming to the show next month, right?” Dorothea calls as Ingrid turns back to the kitchen. “Wizard of Oz?”

“Oh, um, yeah!” Ingrid nods. “I was gonna go with Mercedes and Sylvain and everything to support Annette.”

“Oh! Only Annette?” Dorothea’s smile is sly, knowing. 

“And you!” Ingrid corrects herself. “Annette and you. I’m going for both of you. Yeah. I’m excited to see you.”

“It’ll be a good show.” A pause. “I’m excited to see you, too.”

Ingrid just about drops the cup she’s holding.

She steadies her hands. She can ignore Dorothea for the next fifteen minutes while they rush through these orders, right? Right. She can do this. 

And do it she does. 20 minutes, too much hassle, and ten orders later, she sets Dorothea’s coffee in front of her. “Order for Dorothea?” 

Dorothea looks up from her phone and smiles. “Thanks, Ingrid.” She takes the cup, twisting it in front of her. “Aw, you did my real name this time?”

“Sorry,” Ingrid gives her a sheepish look. “In a rush.” 

“I guess I can forgive you.” Dorothea winks. She always winks. 

“Right. Well, um. Bye? Have a good day?” Ingrid says it like a question as she backs away. 

“See you, Ingrid. Tell Annette I say hi.” 

And Dorothea leaves. 

“She’s cute, huh.”

“Sothis,” Ingrid startles. “Goddess, Annette. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Annette gives her a mocking look. “I bet she’s gonna ask you out soon, though.”

Ingrid snorts. 

“She thinks you’re cute.” Annette coos. 

“Lots of people think I’m cute. That doesn’t mean they’re asking me out.” Ingrid kneels, wringing out a rag over a sanitizer bucket. 

“Yeah, buuuut,” Annette trails off. 

Ingrid pauses, still hunched over. “Annette?” She says dangerously. “What the hell did you do?”

“Okay, you have to swear you can’t be mad at me.” Annette raises her hands. 

“Annette. What. Did. You. Do.” 

“I may have told her that you think she’s cute? And she may have said you’re cute, too? And I may have encouraged her to ask you out?” 

Ingrid drops the rag in favor of putting her head in her hands. 

“I know I said I wouldn’t meddle anymore! I’m sorry!”

It’s hard to be mad at Annette. Ingrid has only ever come close three times. First, when they first met, and Annette tried to set her up with Sylvain (Again: Ew). Second, when she started working at Starbucks, and Annette tried to set her up with Mercedes (Mercedes is cute, but no.). And now, the third.

“Annette, I trusted you.” 

“You really, really shouldn’t have!”

“Oh no, what’s happening?” Mercedes pokes her head out of the back. “Is everything okay?”

Annette looks about ready to cry. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Ingrid wrings out the rag again, this time standing. “Annette is just meddling in my love life again.” 

“Annette,” Mercedes scolds. 

“Ingrid wasn’t going to ask her out, so what in Sothis’s name was I supposed to do?” 

“Not meddle,” Ingrid and Mercedes say at the same time.

Annette throws her hands in the air. “You two never appreciate my work.” 

“Annette, when has meddling ever worked for you?” Ingrid asks. 

“Me and Lysithea are perfectly happy!” 

“Besides your own relationship.” 

Annette thinks about it for a minute. 

“Right, well. I’m off.” Ingrid tosses the rag to Annette. “Annette. Never again.” 

Annette swallows. 

An hour later, Ingrid is sitting at the dinner table with Sylvain and their other roommate Felix, having what Sylvain cheerfully called “Family Dinner” until Ingrid and Felix started hitting him from either side. 

“You’re not going to believe what Annette did today,” Ingrid says, shoving a spoonful of stir fry into her mouth. 

“Tried to set you up with Dorothea?” Sylvain guesses.

Ingrid drops her fork. “How the hell did you know?”

“He told her to,” Felix supplies. 

“Sylvain!” 

“What?” Sylvain says, mouth full. He takes a moment to swallow before continuing. “You weren’t gonna ask her out, and you guys are always flirting in the store so much it’s bad for business.” 

“You’re bad for business,” Ingrid quips. 

Sylvain laughs sarcastically. “You’ll thank me later.” 

“I still have no idea who the fuck Dorothea is,” Felix says into his food. 

“Ingrid follows her on Instagram, don’t you, Ingrid?” Sylvain smiles. “Why don’t you pull up her profile?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, pulling out her phone. Tapping into Instagram, she shoves the screen in Felix’s direction. “Here.” 

Felix looks, then grabs Ingrid’s phone, looking closer. He starts scrolling. 

“Hey-” Ingrid reaches for her phone, scoffing when Felix swats her away with a shush. 

Sylvain looks over Felix’s shoulder. “See? I told you she’s cute.”

“This is weird,” Ingrid says. “Give me back my phone.” 

“High school,” Felix says unhelpfully, then, “I’m pretty sure I went to high school with her.” 

“No shit?” Sylvain says. 

“Really?” Ingrid says. 

“Yeah. Who’s she playing in Witch?” 

“Do you seriously not know what the Wizard of Oz is?” Ingrid asks, half to herself, then shakes her head. “Glinda. The Good Witch.” 

“Cool,” Felix says, finally passing Ingrid’s phone back. “I remember when she played the mom in Addams Family. It was right after she started transitioning.”

“Was she good?” Sylvain asks

“What do you think, asshole? She’s playing fucking Glinda.”

“So you do know Wizard of Oz, you just wanted to be weird about it,” Ingrid nods. 

“Fuck off.”

“What more secret Dorothea knowledge can you bestow upon our poor friend Ingrid?” Sylvain drapes himself over the table. Ingrid shoves him off. 

“Never let her cook for you. She made cookies for the crew of Addams and they were fucking disgusting.” 

“You hear that, Ingrid?” Sylvain guffaws. “Since you can’t cook either, I guess you two will be eating out every night.” 

Nobody laughs.

* * *

Ingrid’s absolutely sure she’s going to make a fool out of herself next time Dorothea comes in. It’s bound to happen. She’s terrible at flirting, somehow even worse when she knows the other girl likes her, too. Ingrid definitely doesn't like her. Even better, she definitely doesn’t scroll through Dorothea’s Instagram that night, trying to gain the courage to just DM her and ask for her number. 

Because she definitely didn’t scroll through Dorothea’s Instagram, Ingrid definitely doesn’t know why she’s exhausted the next day at work. Definitely not. 

Regardless of any exhaustion Ingrid may or may not be feeling, she drags herself into work, clocking in with considerably less vigor than usual, which is a feat, as her usual vigor levels for another day at minimum-wage hellshop were zero.

When Dorothea comes in, Ingrid tamps down her yawn, nodding as she pulls out a cup. 

"You're looking energetic today," Dorothea teases, leaning across the counter to wave at Annette in the back. "What's got you all tired?" 

"Ah, nothing," Ingrid winces. "Homework?" She writes the name Marianne on the cup as she does so, instinctively holding her hand out for Dorothea's card. 

"Oh!" Dorothea says, staring at the cup in Ingrid's hand. "I actually had a specific name I wanted today." 

Ingrid blinks. She's too tired to deal with customers today. Even if that customer is Dorothea. "So, what? Am I just supposed to throw this one away?" 

Dorothea rolls her eyes, giving Ingrid a small smile. "No, silly. Just, here." She reaches for the cup, and Ingrid freezes as their fingers brush together before Dorothea pulls it and the sharpie out of her hands. She's totally fucked. 

Dorothea eyes her, then bites her lip, covering the cup with one hand before starting to write. Ingrid focuses on the thin sliver of white teeth standing out against Dorothea's lip, tinted pink from her lipstick. Before she knows it, the cup is shoved back into her hand, and Dorothea has a slight flush settling on her cheeks like snow on the ground. 

Ingrid takes Dorothea's card and slides, setting the cup off to the side for Annette to fulfill the order. 

"Aren't you gonna read the name?" Dorothea asks, brow furrowed. 

"Annette'll just read it when she calls it out," Ingrid says, handing Dorothea's card back to her. 

"It's a good one, Ingrid. You should totally read it." 

"I totally don't want to. Next!" 

Dorothea rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Read the cup, Ingrid." 

Ingrid rolls her eyes back, taking a deep breath. She picks up the cup, the frustration simmering in her being abruptly replaced with confusion and fluster when she reads, "Will you go out with me?" 

She looks up to see Dorothea smiling at her, a hint of shyness in her eyes. 

“We’re really busy right now,” Ingrid blurts. 

Dorothea hesitates, then nods quickly. “Oh, right! Of course. Totally fine.” She starts to move away, stopped by Ingrid’s hand shooting out to circle her wrist. 

“No, wait-” Ingrid swallows, almost crushing the empty plastic cup in her hand. “My break’s in like twenty minutes, can you wait?” 

Dorothea smiles. “Yeah! Yeah. I can do that.” 

“Awesome.” Ingrid drops Dorothea’s hand. “I’ll, um. Yeah. On my break.”

“Can’t wait.” 

The next twenty minutes are the slowest of Ingrid’s life, which is saying a lot - she works in food service. But, finally, when the between class rush has faded and Annette is sweeping behind the counter while Sylvain takes a drag from his water bottle, Ingrid calls that she’s going on break and takes off her apron when Sylvain gives her the thumbs up. 

Dorothea’s waiting for her at one of the tables, hands wrapped around her half empty coffee cup. Ingrid sits, then, reconsidering, stands, glancing back at the kitchen where Sylvain’s pretending not to stare at them and Annette is very obviously staring at them. 

“Do you want to, um, go sit outside?” she asks Dorothea, clutching her lunch in one hand and brushing strands of hair away from her face with the other.

“Sure.” Dorothea smiles at her, and Ingrid gives a small grin back. 

She holds the door open for Dorothea, and they take a seat at one of the outside tables. Ingrid immediately digs into her lunch, watching Dorothea out of the corner of her eye. Dorothea’s watching her, back, and Ingrid wonders why she’s still holding on to her coffee. She’s yet to drink from it since Ingrid came over. 

“So, a date,” Dorothea starts after a moment. 

“Right! A date!” Ingrid can feel herself start to flush. “Um. Yes. I’d like that. A date. With you.” 

Dorothea smiles. “You free Saturday?”

“Saturday? Um, I should be, I guess. We’re closed here on the weekends and nothing’s going on.” 

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes!” Ingrid nods. “Yes, it’s a yes. Sorry. I’m nervous.” 

“You’re cute,” Dorothea crinkles her nose. “There’s a poetry slam happening at Deja Brew at eight, it’s usually pretty fun.” 

Honestly, the last thing Ingrid wants to do after a week of working at Starbucks is more coffee. She tries not to let it show, but Dorothea must notice the look on her face, because she waves her hands. “Or not! We can always catch a movie! Whatever you want to do.” 

Ingrid swallows. “No, no! The coffee shop sounds fun. Poetry is… good.” 

Dorothea gives her a look. “Are you just saying that because you want to hang out with me?”

Ingrid startles. She smiles sheepishly. “Maybe. Yes.” And then, “But really, Dorothea. That sounds fun. I’ve never been to Deja Brew but my friend Ashe always goes on about it.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! Next date I can choose,” Ingrid sputters. “I mean-”

Dorothea cuts her off. “Sounds good. Next date you can choose.” 

Ingrid flushes pink. 

“I don’t really have a car,” Dorothea says. “Do you drive? Or we can meet there.”

“I can borrow Sylvain’s.” Actually, Sylvain never lets anyone drive his car, but Ingrid thinks she can wrangle him into it. Or, at least, she hopes. 

They exchange numbers and Dorothea sets off for her next class, leaving Ingrid sitting at the table, alone, two minutes left of her break and her lunch only half-eaten. 

“Tell me everything!” Annette nearly yells as Ingrid enters the store again, shoving the last bite of banana into her mouth and clocking back in at the same time. “Did you say yes? What’s happening? Ingrid, I need to know!”

“Give her a second, Annie,” Sylvain says. “She’s gonna choke.” 

Ingrid rolls her eyes, pulling her apron back on. She swallows. “Obviously, I said yes, Annette. We’re gonna go to this, like, poetry thing?” 

Sylvain laughs and Ingrid glares at him. “Poetry?”

“Shut up,” Ingrid grumbles. “Also, I need to borrow your car.”

Sylvain drops the rag he’s holding, slamming a hand down on the counter. “You are  _ not  _ borrowing my baby. I love you, Ingrid, but no. Not even for Dorothea.”

* * *

Three days later, Ingrid’s sitting in Sylvain’s car, staring at herself in the sun visor mirror. She’s been on dates before. Plenty of dates. Five dates, at least. So why is she so nervous? And what’s taking Dorothea so long, anyway? And why does Dorothea live in the dorms when she’s a senior? And why-

Her thoughts are interrupted by an unsuccessful yank on the passenger door handle, and she looks over to see Dorothea, looking beautiful in the evening light, waving at her through the car window.

Ingrid waves back, unlocking the door.

Dorothea slides in. "Hey," she greets. 

Ingrid clutches the wheel in an iron fist. "Hi! Hello. Hi, Dorothea." 

Dorothea smiles at her. She's wearing lipstick. Ingrid tries not to stare at the lipstick.

"You good there?" 

Ingrid's definitely staring at the lipstick. 

"I'm fine!" She says, tearing her gaze away. "Yeah. I'm good." 

"Great. You have the address?” 

Ingrid holds up her phone in answer, then shifts the car into gear and reverses out. 

Dorothea laughs. “Stick shift?” 

“Sylvain’s a weirdo.”

“Is Sylvain the ginger one that always either tries to hit on me or set us up?” 

“The one and only.” Ingrid glances down at the map as she turns onto the road out of campus. 

Dorothea turns, looking in the backseat. “I gotta investigate this shit.”

“Suit yourself, dude. Don’t get mad at me when you’re scarred for life.” 

Dorothea pops open the glove compartment. “Holy Seiros, how many condoms does one man need?” 

Ingrid glances over, face warm. “That’s Sylvain for you.” 

“Does he have, like, five dicks or something?”

“One would think.”

Dorothea closes the glove compartment. “You were right, darling Ingrid. I am scarred for life.” 

“Rule number one of driving in Sylvain’s car: don’t touch anything you don’t need to.” 

“Dear Goddess, stop.” 

Ingrid laughs. “A car’s a car, I’m sorry.” 

“Trust me, you’re good.” Dorothea leans back, hands in her lap. “Parkings around back, by the way.” 

“We’re not even there yet,” Ingrid glances over at Dorothea. “Maybe I already know where to park.”

“Do you?” 

A beat. 

“No.” 

Dorothea laughs again, and Ingrid smiles to herself, rolling back her shoulders and blowing out a breath.

Ingrid is immediately confused by the coffee shop. It’s too dark inside, and she’s tripping over people’s legs as Dorothea guides her through to an empty seat. Should she get out more? Is this what cool people did these days? Maybe she should get out more. Fifty-five hour work weeks don’t make for much of a social life, but as she looks at the people around her, dressed in artsy blacks and reds and - Is that a cape? - she can’t help but feel as though she’s out of touch. 

Dorothea doesn’t seem to mind, though, and Ingrid’s relieved when she actually enjoys the poetry. She and Dorothea have the same sense of humor, too, and she shivers when Dorothea tucks her head into Ingrid’s neck when she’s overcome with giggles at a particularly funny joke. 

“Have you ever done something like this?” Ingrid asks during a break between sets, leaning into Dorothea to be heard over the music. "It seems right up your alley."

"You flatter me." Dorothea winks. Ingrid leans back, embarrassed. "No, but I've written some things." Dorothea purses her lips. "Just nothing complete enough, yet." 

"I'd, um. Love to hear it sometime." Ingrid knows her face must be red by now. "You know. If you want."

Dorothea smiles. She doesn’t say anything, but when Ingrid feels Dorothea’s hand on her knee, she leans into the touch. 

They linger after the last performer, sipping their drinks, Ingrid trying to ignore the sly smiles Dorothea is sliding her way but feeling her face warming at them all the same. 

When they finally slide back into Ingrid’s car, Dorothea brushes her hair back over her shoulders, turning to Ingrid as she maneuvers Sylvain’s car out of its spot. “So, next date.” 

Ingrid almost swerves. “Right! Right. Next date.” 

“You seem like someone who’s into sports,” Dorothea smiles, brushing a hand against Ingrid’s arm. “With your short hair and those arms.”

“Oh, um, actually,” Ingrid flashes her a sheepish smile. “Those arms are from lifting giant coffee pots at work.” 

“Ah.”

“I do like sports, though! Are you into soccer?” 

“Not that I know of,” Dorothea says. “But did you know you were into poetry before tonight?”

Ingrid scoffs. “‘Into’ poetry, you say.”

“Hey, I was watching you.” Dorothea throws up her hands. “You seemed pretty invested.” 

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Fine. I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.” 

“So. For the next date.” Ingrid glances at Dorothea. “Do you want to come over to my apartment? We can watch a soccer game and I’ll force Sylvain to make us dinner. I can’t promise he and Felix won’t be there and dick around but it should be, um, fun. If you want.” 

“Sounds great.” 

“Great.” 

“Great.” 

They pause. 

“If you want,” Ingrid says, swallowing. “You can bring some of your poetry, too. If you want to read it to me. But you don’t have to! I know it’s, like, personal and everything-”

“I’d love to,” Dorothea says. “That sounds like a lot of fun.” 

“Oh! Awesome. I hope so. Yeah. Should be fun. Yeah.” Ingrid shuts her mouth.

“You’re cute.” 

Ingrid considers trying to sputter out a response, but she instead lets out a breath of both relief and regret when she pulls up to the curb of Dorothea’s dorm. 

“Well, Ingrid,” Dorothea says, unlocking her seat belt and turning towards her. “I’d invite you up but this campus’s lack of visitor parking is egregious at best.” 

Ingrid keeps her hands gripped on the steering wheel. “Right! Yeah.” 

They pause for a moment. 

“You know, Ingrid,” Dorothea says. “You can take your hands off the wheel.”

“Oh. Right.” Ingrid does so. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.” 

“What of?” Dorothea smiles, leaning closer.

Ingrid can feel her cheeks starting to warm for the upteenth time that night. “Um, you know.” 

Dorothea laughs. “Like I’ve been saying: cute. Can I kiss you, Ingrid?”

“Yes,” Ingrid says before she loses the courage. “You can.” 

Dorothea leans closer, using one hand to unbuckle Ingrid’s seatbelt and the other to cup Ingrid’s face towards her, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Ingrid’s jaw, and Ingrid thinks she just might combust right there, and then Dorothea’s lips are on hers, and Ingrid’s eyes are fluttering closed, and there’s nothing in the world except Dorothea. Dorothea, and her plump lips pressing and pulling at Ingrids. Dorothea, and her waist in Ingrid’s hands, soft and pliant as Ingrid pulls her towards her. 

That is, until Dorothea’s elbow hits the horn as she tries to get a grip on Ingrid’s hair, and the car honks like a foghorn. They break apart, Ingrid in embarrassment and Dorothea in laughter. 

“It’s Sylvain’s stupid car,” Ingrid complains.

“Oh, it’s all right.” Dorothea briefly presses her thumb into Ingrid’s bottom lip and then pulls back. “I certainly didn’t mind it.” 

“I didn’t, either.” 

“Besides, there’s always the next date.” Dorothea leans down, picking her purse up from the floor of the car. “I’ll text you?” 

“Yeah! I’ll text you, too.” Ingrid grins, fretting her bottom lip between her teeth. “This was fun.”

“It was, wasn’t it, my Ingrid?” Dorothea smiles back. She puts one hand on the car door handle. “Goodnight, Ingrid.” 

“Goodnight, Dorothea.” 

Ingrid watches as Dorothea exits the car, waiting for her to get into the building before pulling out of her spot. 

When she gets home, there’s already a text waiting for her. She puts the key in the door, opening her messages. 

It’s from Dorothea. All that’s in the message is a smile emoji with a heart, but Ingrid blushes all the same. 

She’s fucked. Absolutely, completely fucked. 

If it’s over Dorothea, though, Ingrid reckons, tossing her bag on the couch and slumping down next to it. It’s worth it. 

Absolutely, completely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> [@bizzybee429 on twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429) [@officialferdinand on tumblr](http://officialferdinand.tumblr.com)


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